


Photographs

by daisybrien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Nostalgia, Other, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes looking back on memories can help create new ones. (For HPshipweeks)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographs

Remus shifts in the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets surrounding him, sinking deeper into its soft warmth. His hands move to wrap one of the quilts father around him, fending off the cellar’s biting chill, the papers scattered across his lap shifting and tumbling over each other as he pulls the blanket farther over his shoulders. His muscles ache with the movement, looking out into the room that was anything but welcoming; grey cement walls marked and crumbling with the white streaks of vicious claw marks, red splatters drying to brown accenting each cluster of scratches and tracing patterns on the floor. But his attention was removed from that grim reality, bearing no mind to the marks that would terrify or disgust any other individual. Instead, his mind is brought to the warm body by his side, and the photographs splayed over their legs, a mosaic of overlapping memories and waving, laughing figures. It’s a nice distraction from the pain and cold, one that he’s grateful for, and Tonks knows it; even after his tired protests, she had lumbered up and down the steps to throw down family albums and blankets and all, bringing the warmth outside the dreary room to him when his muscles were too weak for him to make it outside himself.

He lifts one hand from the tangle of blankets covering him, sifting through the photos, one in particular standing out to him in its peculiarity. He looks over the photo with a smirk, eyes taking in the image of Tonks in her school robes, hair a shocking and spiky yellow reminiscing someone who had just been struck my lightning, before pressing into the body beside him, his lips finding their way against Tonks’ temple teasingly.

“I like this look on you.” 

Remus chuckles, laughing when Tonks’ eyes widen in horror, her shoulder nudging into him sharply at his jab. “Oh, now you’re just being an arse,” she scoffs, one hand moving up to push Remus’ face away as he shoves his nose at her. Even as she rolls her eyes at him, the corner of her own lips quirks up in a small smirk, and she shakes her head as she looks at it, almost in disbelief. 

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Remus says harmlessly, giving her a lopsided grin dripping with mischief. “I think it is a very interesting look. Unique.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Anything you want it to, dear,” Remus says, widening his eyes innocently.

“If you’re going to be mean, I can always go back upstairs,” Tonks says. She crosses her arms over her stomach, swollen and round under the blankets. “And I can bring all of this back up with me.”

“Dora, no,” Remus says. He shuffles in closer to her, leaning his head on hers. “I meant that sincerely. Everything you do is interesting because everything looks good on you.”

“I beg to differ,” Tonks snorts. Her hand moves to take the photo out of Remus’ grasp, shaking her head as she looks down at it in disbelief. “I can’t believe I actually chose to look like that. That hair was a mistake.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Remus says, and Tonks raises her eyebrows at him, smirking at him. 

“You sure about that,” she asks. “Or are you just trying to flatter me?”

“It’s not as bad as the puke green freckles in your second year photos.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, head falling back on the cushions behind her. Her hands start patting the blankets around her. “That was so bad, the teachers thought I had a rare strain of dragon pox and almost put the entire school in quarantine. Where is that photo, anyway? I want to rip it up.”

“You shouldn’t go destroying precious memories, Dora.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Tonks says, hands still stirring through the pile around her, “but the only thing that monstrosity of a child is precious to is my mother, and even my own mother thinking I was precious was a feat in itself.” 

She exclaims in a cry of triumph, holding up a photo of her in too short Hufflepuff robes. She had been lanky from a recent growth spurt, one that surely brought her clumsiness to a head, her hair parted down the middle and coloured black and yellow in her house pride, her cheeks dappled in bright green spots. Her face twists at the image, first in disgust, then in her morphing, her hair growing and changing colour, the same green spots starting to blister her skin. She looks at Remus, sticking out her tongue, exaggerating a gross frown like that of a child throwing a fit. 

“Oh god,” Remus says. “That’s worse than the photo.”

“Sorry?” Tonks says, her brow furrowing, her head tilted to the side. Her features start to return to her usual state, green freckles fading from her cheeks, her hair fading into its preferred pink, seeming to grow back into her head. “I thought you said everything looked good on me.”

“I think there are a few exceptions,” he muses. When Tonks raises an eyebrow at him, he starts to stammer out his correction. “Very few, though, very few.”

“I guess we both agree that these two were both exceptions,” Tonks says, holding the two photos up to the light, miniature versions of her making faces back at them.

“Well I like the yellow spikes.”

“Really?” Tonks asks. 

“Of course,” Remus says, “it’s very eccentric. Something you would find on a superhero.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes,” he continues, “I can already see you in a costume already, flying around England with lightning powers.”

“Alright,” Tonks grunts. She moves from her seat, cheeks puffing out as she tries to lift herself out of the tangle of sheets around them. “I’m leaving.”

“It was a joke,” Remus laughs, can see the same laughter on Tonks’ own face as she struggles to get up.

“No, no,” she sighs. She decides to move up to the edge of the cushions, Remus trying to reach for her with aching muscles even as she quickly jumps past the length of his arms. The movement pushes the blankets forward, the sea of photos splitting down the middle, some falling off onto the cold cement floor. “I was determined   
on making sure you felt okay and decided to comfort you, but since you’re determined on being a bad husband I think I’ll just leave.”

“Dora,” Remus whines, watching in amusement as she braces her feet against the ground, legs spread wide, her large stomach hanging in between. “I’m sorry, don’t leave.”

“No, no, no,” she continues. “I think I’ll be better off somewhere else.”

Her cheeks puff out again, brow furrowing as she strains to stand up, arms and legs pushing against the ground. She rises slightly, butt hovering over the cushions in an awkward squat before giving up. She exhales, falling onto her bottom and rocking back with the momentum, her hands moving to hold her stomach.

“Need a little help?” Remus chuckles.

“Not from a bad husband like you,” Tonks sighs dramatically. She starts to lean back, grinning as Remus opens an arm for her, one that she gratefully sinks into. She snuggles into the crook of his arm, leaning towards him so her belly is resting on his side. “Unfortunately, I’m just going to wait down here until we can both get up.”  
“Well that is truly unfortunate,” Remus says, smiling. “Especially since I’m not very interested in getting up any time soon.”

“You’re lucky I’m pregnant,” Tonks says, “and that I’m stuck here with you. Otherwise I would be halfway up those cellar steps by now.” 

“I am lucky that you’re pregnant,” Remus says. “I’m lucky just to have a partner and the chance to have a child.”

“Oh, don’t get all mushy on me now,” Tonks says. She snuggles in deeper, kissing his shoulder. 

“Well it is true,” he says. “The fact that I have proved myself such a bad husband over and over again and you still staying just goes to show-“

“Oh, bloody hell, not this spiel again,” Tonks groans. “We’ve all heard it a millions times. I know you’re a self-pitying idiot who denies the love of others to keep them safe. And I am absolutely flattered,” she emphasizes that word, looking up to blink at Remus like a love struck school girl, even morphing her lashes ridiculously long to prove her sarcasm, “that you would allow me the chance to ruin my life with you.”

“Well I’m glad that it doesn’t need to be repeated then,” Remus laughs, the two of them breaking into giggles. Tonks ends the dramatic act by swinging her arm through the air, leaving it to rest over her forehead as she leans into him like an old maid fainting, even sighing as she spirals as far as she can into his lap with the limits her stomach puts on her movement. 

“Seriously though, stop going into those self deprecating rants,” she deadpans. “Your attempts at being inspiring and wise are just too tiresome on the rest of us.”

“What if I just have a lot to say?”

“Then you can say it when you’ve learned to love yourself a little more. Or tell it to the kid when they’re born. That’ll put ‘em to sleep.”

Remus snorts, wincing at the pain in his wounds as his chest shakes. “Nice to know my emotional turmoil is nothing but boring droning to you.”

“It’s not that boring when I’ve lived the experience myself,” Tonks says. “I get to be part of the exhaustion and the intensity of it. The kid? Probably won’t care less about something in his life.”

“Too bad they’re going to end up bored by it anyway.” Remus sighs. “I would rather they not hear about how much of an arse their dad really is.”

“There are bigger assholes than you,” Tonks says. One hand reaches up to caress his cheek, brushing along his stubble, a finger tracing a gash that lines his jawbone. “You’ll have plenty of time to win them over way before they even comprehend the possibility of you making a mistake.” Her hand cups his cheek, patting it. “Parenting perks.”

“What is someone like me going to do to win a child over?”

“Well, beside actually providing the basic needs and affection every kid needs,” Tonks continues, “I’m sure you’ll have some less than terrible memories to share with them.”

“Those are few and far in between,” Remus says, looking out at the sea of photographs in front of him. He can’t help but be envious of his wife in this respect, seeing the pride and love of her parents in the sheer number of them covering him, let alone their smiling, joyful faces. There were photos of him growing up, of course, but he never considered parents taking photos in this amount; he was rewarded only a few snapshots of certain milestones, his birthdays and his days going off to Hogwarts, his parents’ faces drawn into similar, tight smiles, all of them lined up in neat little rows, standing straight and formal like soldiers. It was a mask that could barely cover the wrinkles and grey hairs that told of a life of stress and hardship, like a layer of new paint peeling with the old underneath. 

He didn’t doubt that his parents loved him, and they had cared for him like any parents would. But there was nothing much to celebrate about his life, no thought to just take in the moment as a family, no need to take photos that reminded them of what everyday was really like for them. The lack of hope in him made there be nothing worth wasting film over.

He fiddles with a slip in front of him, the image crumpled and ripped at the edges. Tonks and her family smile out of it nonetheless, despite the doom the war had brought over them. At least, he assumes they had taken the shot during the First War, Tonks still a young, round-faced child, straining to even have the entirety of her face show in the photo. Her family had taken pleasure in the simple moments. Had his own not bothered in remembering him the same way?

Tonks seems to sense his unease, nudging him softly. “I’m sure you have plenty that you’re not thinking of.”

“Sadly not,” he sighs. “Unlike your wonderful parents, mine never took the time to invest in more than one roll of film during the entirety of my childhood.”

“Don’t sass my parents.”

“I’m not,” he says, shaking his head. “They really are wonderful. Your family has the stability that mine never had the privilege of having.”

Tonks snorts, her body shaking in his arms. She hisses as she jolts forward over her belly as she roars with laughter, groaning as she rolls onto her side, her arms wrapped around her abdomen.

“Remind me not to laugh while on my back next time,” Tonks moans beside him. “Or sneeze. Or anything before this baby is out of me.”

“Note taken,” Remus says, even if his reminders would do nothing in the first place; she had already strained her muscles far enough, even had the unlucky occurrence of keeling over herself while sneezing lying down, the curl of her stomach enough to send her reeling in pain for half an hour. “Although I don’t know what’s so funny.”

“I’m kind of concerned of what you believe stability is,” Tonks coughs, “considering no part of this family can get along with each other, let alone the fact that we all want to kill each other.”

“I don’t think your aunts count,” he says. 

“Still,” she says, “I don’t think you would call this family very peaceful.”

“I think that’s what makes it stable,” Remus muses, “the fact that you’re honest. You can admit how you feel.

“Nothing here is an act,” he continues, waving his arm out to the photos around him. “My family only smiles when they want to look like everything is okay, even though it usually wasn’t. Maybe it was because I was just too much of a burden-“

“Hey,” Tonks warns. “What did I say about that word?”

“It’s true-“

“We don’t use the B-word in this house,” she says sternly. “If I hear it slip out again I’ll leave.”

“You mean you’ll try to leave.”

She smacks him in the arm. 

“Still,” she says, “that doesn’t mean you won’t have anything to share with them.”

“Even if I do fish any memories out of my brain from my childhood,” Remus says, “which I remind you is aging at a severely alarming rate, I won’t have the proof for it.”

“You’re telling me you can only think of good times in your childhood,” Tonks says. “Did school just not happen to you?”

“Well, that’s different-“

“Had my cousin lied to me about your antics this whole time?”

“Dora, please,” Remus snorts. 

“Tell them all the trouble you got into as a student,” she says, “that will surely win them over.”

“I want to be a good role model for my child,” Remus states, “not encourage them to become a young delinquent.”

“Remus, this kid is going to be born to two of the mischief makers that were the bane of every Hogwarts teachers’ existence,” Tonks says. “It’s in their blood. This kid was too late to learn from any good example from the time they were conceived.”

“That doesn’t give us an excuse to teach them how to be a hooligan,” he says.

“We wouldn’t need to teach them anything,” Tonks scoffs, swatting her hand at him. “It will just be something to entertain themselves with.”

“So they can get ideas on how to cause the school trouble?”

“The teachers already know all the tactics,” Tonks says. “Be happy that you used to be one, they’ll be causing us all that crap before we even have to think of packing their bags for school.”

Tonks’ eyes widen, her smile dwindling, eyebrows coming together. “Maybe we should rethink telling them our tactics,” she murmurs. “Maybe we’ll tell them as warning tales?”

“Oh yeah,” Remus pipes in, “that’s gonna win my kid over. I’ll get all the photos from my school years just to provide a good learning environment.”

“See, you do have photos,” Tonks exclaims. “Ones that I haven’t seen. You’ll let our child see them but not me?”

“You think that I would let my loving wife embarrass herself with childhood photos and not return the favor?” Remus gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Well, where are these photos then?”

“No idea,” he quips, shaking his head, his lips pressing together in a meager, pathetic smile. Probably in some old abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere, he thinks, or some old closet sized apartment he could only afford for less than two months on what pathetic savings he had scrapped from some odd job he probably could only hold for less than that. Or they’re tucked away in his family’s house, another unwelcome place that had probably been emptied out long ago. His stomach twists at the thought of going back, the walls too familiar. He doesn’t know what would scare him more; finding and confronting his parents, his father safe and sound inside the house, or finding it empty but for the shrubbery left to nestle their way into the cracks and crevices of the house.

He wonders if Sirius had hunted any of them down, stashed them away in his own room – he would have needed them in that house, probably the only glimmer of a decent life outside the grim, rotting walls of Grimmauld Place. He had seen the inside of Sirius’ room - enough times to count on one hand - had grinned ear to ear in the few minutes of silence they tried to muster before the chaos his family would eventually wreak broke out; his eyes had always lit up at the photos and letters plastered across the wall, a living testament to Sirius’ rebellion and spirit, now a monument to his life in what was one of the few places he hated with all his being.

“They must be somewhere,” Tonks presses. “Can’t you retrace your steps or something? In your mind?”

“Either in an old, dingy place I’ve had to abandoned a long time ago, or somewhere that could get us killed for going there.”

“Oh,” she stutters out.

Their dispute dwindles to a stifling silence, muscles going stiff around each other. Remus is thrust back into the present, their ugly reality, the room around him suddenly coming into focus, becoming hyper aware of every mark and stain on the walls. She seems to understand his meaning, knows that anywhere they had ever been would now guarantee being caught. She had not witnessed the worst of Sirius’ family, Walburga’s portrait only a ghost of the cruelty she had instilled upon the household, and had never associated such horrible abuse with the dusty old house. She had often seen it as somewhere welcoming, a place with warm faces if not always the place of happiest circumstances, and outside the fact that it had been a blow to the Order’s activity, she had hurt to leave it. 

They even had to flee their own homes, the two of them and Tonks’ mother forced to leave the cottage where they had built their life, taking refuge in an invisible townhouse half way across the country. Every place they had ever built a home was being watched, monitored, the places they should be the most safe now the very ones that would most likely get them killed. 

“You may have lost most of them,” Tonks begins, words soft and tentative, testing the atmosphere, “but I’m sure we can fish out the few you must have brought with you.”

“I didn’t bring much.”

“Well then we’ll make our own,” she says, the rebuttal brought with a warm smile. His heart leaps as she looks up at him, drinking in the wrinkles around her eyes, the dimples in her glowing cheeks. “We have a camera. We can just add to the collection.”

“Really?” Remus says, his own grin blooming on his face. His arm squeezes around Tonks, pulling her close, moving his hand up and down her bicep; the movement sprouts a pain in his muscle, and he has to stifle his grimace. “What do you want to capture then?”

“I was waiting to use the new film when I pop this little one out,” Tonks ponders, hands cupping the swell of her stomach, “but I don’t see why we can’t open it now.”

“Now?” Remus asks. The prickle of pain in his jaw becomes ever present, the bruises on his forehead throbbing. He shifts nervously in his spot. “I don’t think I’m very photogenic at the moment.”

“Neither was I in this photo,” Tonks smirks, picking up the photo of her pouting in a long, frilly gown, her arms crossed as her mother holds a hand firmly over her shoulder to hold her in place. “Even my mom thought I looked awful in that,” she mutters to herself quietly, “thank Merlin she never forced me into anything that awful ever again.”

Remus chortles, pangs of discomfort blooming in his chest with every heave. He’s going to have to go through a lot of full moons until he can grow equal with Tonks’ own collection of horrid photos. 

Now would be a nice moment to capture, he thinks, the sheer impossibility of the moment he was in right now almost overwhelming; he somehow deserves this, a partner, a family, a wonderful, tender moment with the warmth of a loved one’s body by his side during a time he had always found himself suffering in loneliness.

“I wouldn’t mind a photo,” Remus decides. “Too bad we’ll have to get up to get the camera.”

Tonks’ face crumples at the thought. She leans her head back on his arm, groaning from deep in her throat melodramatically. She looks up at him with tired eyes, her mouth wide in her grousing, swinging her head to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m not getting up,” she grumbles into his arm, sinking into the cushions.

“Me neither.”

She sighs. “I guess we’ll just scrap that idea then.” She reaches over him, grabbing his other hand, pulling it over his chest. She presses his palm to her swollen belly, her hand warm and rough over his, moving it in slow circles over it’s curves. “I would just like to stay here with you for a while.”

He feels something underneath, a soft shift, then the smallest of thumps against his hands, just the lightest flutter but still amazingly there, just beneath the skin. His throat tightens at the gesture, Tonks finally welcoming him to feel the baby under her skin, to undoubtedly want him to be a part of their life. She had been so tentative in the beginning, and was just a justified in it, still hesitant about him trying to wiggle back into their growing family after he had lost the courage to stay so many times. He made it his will to prove himself, had done it over and over again, and now she wasn’t even giving the gesture a second thought. He was determined to prove his worthiness of her trust, of their child’s trust, and he knew now that he would be an outright fool for refusing it again.

“I would like that,” he whispers. He rests his head on her bright hair, pressing his hand against the swell of her belly as it moves under it, laughing as her whole stomach jumps with the baby’s excitement. “I would always like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> First remadora thing I've posted to ao3 can I get a hell yeah


End file.
